


I always get my way

by Casimir



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Anonymous top, But only because they’re both morons, M/M, Manipulation, Oral Sex, Photography, Threesome - M/M/M, Unrequited Crush, bottom!Goro, implied akeshu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:02:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27303832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casimir/pseuds/Casimir
Summary: Happy Halloween!A day in the life of Akechi, and the things that being a celebrity entails.>>Akechi pulls his tie off completely. He drops it to the side, letting it slip through his fingers like liquid. It pools by his feet as he stands and strides over to the man. Already, Akechi is unbuttoning his shirt as he walks— he throws a leg over the desk and drags his fingers up the man’s neck and cheek. So easy.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48
Collections: 21 plus server halloween event





	I always get my way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tinkabelladk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/gifts).



> My piece for the 21+ akeshuake halloween event, with love to Cruellae for the prompt! Hope you enjoy!

Akechi’s face stares down at himself from the screen above. And to the side. Some girl across the street snaps a picture of him— he can hear the shutter of her phone click— and he gives her a pleasant smile and wave

_ Doesn’t choke on the bile rising in the back of his throat _

Before he carries on walking up the short steps into the cafe. The barista recognizes him, obviously, and has his order memorized even. There are perks to being famous. The coffee is perfect, sweet and mild. He takes it to go. It’s the weekend so there’s no school, no homework to catch up on

_ He already knows the culprit to his current case, Shido gave him the name _

But he does have an interview later in the day. Some insipid tabloid magazine that wants him in to boost their ratings. Akechi expects to end up babysitting while the host pretends not to be a vapid idiot. They always ask the same handful of questions. ‘What made you want to be a detective?’ ‘What do you think of your being a celebrity?’ Boring, boring, boring. He checks the time on his phone, checks his blog’s newest comments— a good half a dozen, he replies with an emoji to the ‘best’ ones— and stands in the middle of Shibuya like an idiot because he doesn’t have anywhere to be. It’s pissing him off.

Akechi does  _ not  _ like having nothing to do. Shido hasn’t given him any targets because their big one is the fucking  _ Phantom Thieves _ and they’re still evading him. Well, he knows who they are. It’s not like it’s hard to figure out.

Someone asks for an autograph while he’s standing next to a fashionable looking store, sipping his coffee and contemplating putting a bullet in between Akira Kurusu’s fucking eyeballs.

_ It’s going to happen eventually, not an if but a when. Akechi looks forward to it. _

His signature is cute and slightly loopy. It took him weeks to get the perfect one; something that matches the pretty, non-threatening look of the Detective Prince. His actual handwriting is spidery, choppy. He writes with the same vicious jags that he uses in the Metaverse to wield his sword. Shido is the only one that’s seen his real handwriting.

Akechi wonders what it says about him, when he turns the pleasant plastic smile on Shido but turns in paperwork that looks like he attacked it with a knife dipped in ink. His teachers get a kind of blend of the two. Something easy to read and professional. If he’d been older, had the time to really think out his revenge rather than showing up on his father’s doorstep with a snarl on his face, it would have been the other way around. Instead Shido had asked him to sign his life away and Akechi had taken the pen and stabbed it into the paper as he signed. Got called a

_ vicious little brat. _

motivated kid for coming up with the plan. Shido sounded impressed, especially when Akechi made his first kill.

It’s with a put upon sigh that he heads towards the studio where he’ll be interviewing. He’s almost finished with his coffee so he stops by another chain location on the way— it’s hardly LeBlanc but Sakura doesn’t do his coffee to-go. He has the time, if he doesn’t want to have any  _ extracurricular  _ fun, but Akechi really doesn’t want to get drawn into Kurusu’s disaster bubble if he can help it. He’ll end up six hours into a conversation about ethics again. There are little bats stuck to the windows and a particularly orange theme to the decor.

On the train Akechi tries his best not to look like the fed-up, exhausted gay that he is. He fixes his best ‘I’m not paying attention but I am a generally happy person’ smile to his face and zones out until his stop is called. There are people swarming around him, letting him and the others step off of the train before pushing on themselves, and some of them— just here and there— gasp and point at Akechi as he walks past. It makes him feel smug and proud of where he’s come. Crawled his way out of the bottom of the pits of society to where he stands on all these people’s shoulders.

He stands next to Shido, a man that lords himself over everyone else. Soon he’ll stand over even him too.

The studio is basically a reformed house. The outside is all white, with large windows that stretch from floor to ceiling on the bottom level. It lets Akechi see the people milling about inside. He doesn’t give a shit what it is they’re up to, he’s only there to see one person after all. Shido’s people had set him up with this interview. There’s no doubts or illusions about what else he’s there for.

Honestly, no one needs to hint at it anymore. The first time it had happened, Akechi hadn’t really known what to do with himself. By now it’s been more times than he can count. He even prompts it a little. He knows exactly which man to flirt with, which one to bat his eyes at, which one to push just a little more before they approach him for a  _ favour _ .

Every favour he fulfills puts them just a little deeper into Shido’s pockets. Just a little deeper into Akechi’s too. It’s not much, but those same people owe him too. Another flirtatious look, or a subtle lean over a countertop with a pointed comment about wanting a new bike that just came out or something good for dinner. It was a little bit like having a collection of sugar daddies at his beck and call.

Akechi bows low as he introduces himself to the receptionist. She has a broad, innocent smile. He doubts that she knows what her boss gets up to upstairs. The windows up there are much smaller. Skinny little things that only let in enough light to look ‘natural’. Akechi loosens his tie as he closes the door behind him. The interview is with the man that owns the magazine,  _ of course _ , because he could hardly let any old plebeian touch him. The man is old hat at the game, too.

There are a couple of men around him, one of them is almost certainly a photographer but the other one is new. Probably someone that the owner wants in his own pockets.

_ They’re all a bunch of backstabbing idiots. _

Pockets in pockets in pockets. Like Russian nesting dolls. Akechi has to snort at his own joke before he settles down across from his interviewer. He feels a little bit like he’s on a damned casting couch for some shitty porno. He puts his best smile on. This one is his favourite, out of all the fake ones that he likes to put on. It’s a little vicious, a little nasty, just enough to send a shiver down his target’s spine. A tried and true method.

Doesn’t fucking work on Akira Kurusu, because of course the one man he wants to drag to bed with him is the only one it doesn’t work on.

“I hope you have some good questions for me today,” Akechi says. He reclines on the couch, chin resting on his loose fist.

The man across from him swallows thickly. His eyes drag down Akechi’s body, focusing on the exposed curve of his throat from where he’d loosened his tie. “This is my assistant—“ Akechi drowns out the name, doesn’t give a singular shit who or what the man is. “He’s going to be helping us today.”

“Of course, sir.” He pushes his hair behind his ear, tilting his head just so. The man shivers visibly. Hook, line, and sinker.

Akechi pulls his tie off completely. He drops it to the side, letting it slip through his fingers like liquid. It pools by his feet as he stands and strides over to the man. Already, Akechi is unbuttoning his shirt as he walks— he throws a leg over the desk and drags his fingers up the man’s neck and cheek.  _ So easy. _

“Where would you like me to start?” Akechi shrugs his shirt off with a roll of his shoulders that exposes the fine dusting of freckles over his skin.

The man drags his face down for a kiss. He smells like cigarette smoke and whiskey and Akechi drinks it down— hates every second of this simpering creature shoving his tongue down his throat. Akechi can’t even pretend that it’s Kurusu doing the kissing, because he knows he’d be better than this. He’s definitely skilled. Couldn’t be anything else with his stupid doe eyes and long eyelashes that make Akechi want to punch him.

Strong hands grip Akechi’s shoulders and tug him backwards until he’s leaning against the assistant's chest. He has to rearrange himself so that the interviewer is positioned between Akechi’s long legs, trapped on either side by his thighs, and he turns his head upwards to kiss the other man leaning over him. Reaching up, he loops his arms around the assistant’s neck. It exposes his chest and the hard lines of his waist— his carefully sculpted body from hours at the gym and dragging himself through the Metaverse.

Akechi doesn’t bite the lips that are pressing against his own. The assistant is better at it, running his tongue gently across his own, but it’s still the same old boring gentleness. Kurusu would definitely bite. He’d force himself on Akechi, pushed to the brink of desperation from Akechi’s teasing touches and the nibbles pressed to his neck—

Kind of like the ones being left on Akechi right now, actually. He grabs the assistant’s hair and yanks his head backwards. “Ah, ah. No marks.” He says, his pleasant smile hardly coming close to his eyes.

“R-right.” Comes the reply, the man’s eyes slipping shut from Akechi’s grip. Interesting.

He lets go of his hair and drags the tips of his fingers through it instead. The man moans quietly. There are hands on Akechi’s legs, keeping them spread open, and they trace the seams of his pants until finally coming to a stop around his crotch. He palms Akechi’s dick but the hesitant way he moves makes Akechi sick. He wants him to take control, manhandle him into submission and shove his dick down his throat. 

_ Like Kurusu would. _

The thought makes Akechi shudder. His interviewer must mistake it for something that he’s doing, because the delicate way he’s messing with Akechi’s clothed dick becomes a little more confident. Akechi wriggles a little in an attempt to convince him to pull his pants off properly. He has to give the man a cheeky little grin to get him to actually start. Once his pants are unzipped they come off easily. Akechi has a jockstrap on today, a little bit of rebellion in the pattern that covers his dick compared to the plain beige clothes he wears. Shido has people who choose all of Akechi’s clothes for him. Only the most expensive, mundane things for him. They’re paid more money a day than Akechi thinks was in his mother’s life savings. The shirts he wears would have paid for their groceries for a week.

His body is dragged back over the table until his bare ass meets the interviewer’s hips. The table is short enough that his head hangs off of the other side, right at the assistant’s waist. Akechi can see the bulge hidden behind his slacks. He mouths at it, kissing and dragging his tongue over the fabric until the man has to scrabble with his zipper and boxers to free himself. 

Finally, finally, he shoves his cock in Akechi’s mouth. It’s unceremonious and hardly pleasant but it makes Akechi’s toes curl where his legs are being propped up over the interviewer’s shoulders. Akechi doesn’t need much prep on the other end. It’s been a long time since he was first taken by another man. Just some lube smeared inside him and a cursory amount over the cock that’s about to push it’s way inside. Some of Akechi’s dalliances hardly even give him that. They like it when he hisses in pain and clenches around them. It’s hard not to admit that he’s a fan of it as well.

The two men seem to move together, whether they meant to or not, and slide into Akechi on both sides of his body. There’s a click of a camera

_ And Akechi wants to pry it out of his hands and break it. _

But he gives it a quick peace sign, knowing they’ll be part of his interviewer’s personal spank bank until Akechi hunts him down in Mementos and slaughters him for his transgression. The photographer, in his defence, takes the whole thing in stride. He moves around them clinically, snapping photos as he contorts into weird positions to get the best shot with the best lighting. Akechi decides he wants a copy of them when he’s done. He wants to see what he looks like with a bright red flush on his face and a cock in his ass driving him fucking insane. The man’s hips drive his cock deep inside Akechi’s body.

They push inside of him simultaneously. The static fuzz of pleasure creeping into the edges of Akechi’s mind makes him whine around the thick length in his mouth. His toes curl, eyes already closed to the assault on his senses. Akechi’s world narrows to the slick thrust inside his ass, the heavy weight on his tongue and the taste of salt at the back of his throat, and the building feeling of pleasure. There are hands tight on his waist— fingers digging in enough that there’ll probably be bruises tomorrow.

There’s not enough air around the cock in his mouth. Akechi’s lungs are starting to burn, every thrust cutting it off halfway through each gasping breath. He  _ relishes  _ the feeling. Akechi gives himself over to it every time. He wouldn’t go so far as to call it an addiction, sure he’s... _ encouraged  _ to make friendly with these people but in the end it’s his choice to kneel down and let some guy grab his hair. He wishes idly that the position he’s in would let the assistant get a nice fistful of it. A few of these guys have told him before that they’ve always wanted to do it. It makes them feel special when they get their nasty fingers in his hair. It’s clear how much he takes care of it.

Instead, though, the man has his shaking hands on Akechi’s shoulders. Like he’s afraid to grab too tightly, to take what he wants out of Akechi’s body. If he has a wife then Akechi feels sorry for her. He’s all gentle, nervous touches. If it wasn’t for the fact that his cock is scraping the back of Akechi’s throat then he would have thrown him off and mocked him relentlessly for it. His interviewer is better, marginally. He knows roughly what Akechi likes. What makes him clench down tightly around the cock in his ass— as if on cue his nails drag down the milk white flesh of his thighs. Akechi shudders and moans. He’s quickly reaching his peak but he’s getting distracted by the pathetic way the assistant is petting his face.

It takes everything not to snarl like a desperate animal when he reaches up and grabs the man by his hips. In one motion he’s as deep in Akechi’s mouth as his cock will go, completely cutting off his air, and Akechi can feel the trembles coursing through his body. It just makes him swallow again and again until the man’s cock twitches— a rush of cum trickling down the back of Akechi’s throat suddenly. Akechi can’t taste it as far back as it is but he  _ can  _ feel it. It feels like the man giving in to him, giving up everything,  _ surrendering. _ Akechi’s own orgasm is hot on the heels of the other man’s. He chokes on it, letting go of the hips above him so he can finally breathe, a rush of air filling his lungs and clearing the encroaching darkness at the edges of his vision. It’s replaced instead by a white haze as Akechi’s body seizes and his back arches upwards, vision blanking out as cum splatters on his navel.

Everything is a pleasant burn and ache after that. His legs are like jelly while they’re tugged off of his interviewer’s shoulders. Akechi feels a little like a starfish, spread out on the once pristine table while the photographer gets a really good shot of his post-orgasm glow. Slowly he sits up. The assistant hands him his shirt, which he thinks makes him look even more debauched than being stark naked. Another click from the camera as Akechi draws his features into his softest smile.

“So! About those questions you had for me…”

***

Akira picks up the magazine with shaking fingers. Akechi is on the front cover, shirt unbuttoned and looking like it’s about to slide off of his pale shoulders. He’s giving the camera the worst— best— bedroom eyes that Akira’s ever seen. Smouldering red-brown that pierces right through Akira and straight to his goddamn dick. There’s a little blush on his cheeks and tiny freckles that Akira hadn’t noticed before. 

_ Halloween special! _ Says the front cover.  _ Interview with Akechi Goro! _

Morgana gives him the nastiest look as he buys the magazine. He pointedly does not say anything to the cat, even when his tiny paws dig into Akira’s shoulder. The magazine is going straight into Akira’s  _ reading  _ shelf when he gets home.


End file.
